Dare To Run (The Sons of Steel Row #1)(26)

“But—”

“No.”

I would have been tempted to break free of his hold if it wasn’t so damn cold out here. Thank God he lived across the street. I’d let him continue being my personal heating pad, but I’d make my feelings clear. “I’m not yours to boss around, Lucky. I’ve told you, I don’t blindly take orders from anyone, not even you.”

Something crashed in the alley behind us as he opened the door and pushed me inside gently. “Yeah, you do. In my world, when your man gives you orders, you damn well listen.” He raised a hand when I opened my mouth. “And, yes, I know I’m not really your man. And, yes, I know it’s old-fashioned and f*cked-up. But it is what it is, and it’s the life I lead, for better or for worse. If you’re going to be my woman, real or fake, it’s how it’s gotta be. End of story.”

“The hell it does. I—”

“Enough.” He slammed the door shut behind us and boxed me against the wall, leaning down so his face was level with mine. “When we’re within these walls, you wanna bitch me out, hit me, whatever, about the rules for out there? Fine. Go for it. But when we’re outside of this apartment, and your safety and our lives are at stake? You will listen to every damn word I say. There are no other options.”

I refused to lower my head or back down. What he said made sense, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. “You’re an *. We’re in private, so I can say it.”

“Yeah, you can.” His lips twitched ever so slightly. “And I agree. I am an *.”

“And an idiot.”

The twitch stopped. “That I don’t agree with, except for in one aspect, but you’re entitled to your opinion.”

“What’s that one aspect?”

“Not telling.” He pressed his body—oh my God, that body—against mine, grinning down at me. “It’s not smart to announce your weaknesses to just anyone.”

“I’m not just anyone,” I said breathlessly. I could feel things, pressed up against my things, and it made my stomach clench tight. “I’m your fake girlfriend.”

“Exactly my point.”

Grinning, he pushed off the wall and walked up the stairs. I followed him because, hey, the view was nice. Lucas Donahue had a hell of an ass. Also, I had nowhere else to go. Lucas swooping in like a modern-day Galahad—and, yes, I know, he was a very bad man, grrr, argh—it changed everything. Thanks to Bitter Hill’s guys, I was no longer safe out there on my own. So I needed to stay until I was.

And then he’d walk away, and I’d probably never see him again.

Something told me once Lucas Donahue finished with you, he didn’t come back to check in and see how you were doing afterward. Once you were done . . .

You were done forever.

He opened his apartment door, motioning me inside. I walked past him, keeping my eyes straight ahead, and flipped the switch on. It looked much the same as it had when we’d left this afternoon, but he’d folded the blanket he’d used last night on top of the couch, and cleaned up the mess I’d made patching him up. My bags still sat by the bedroom door, untouched, next to a black duffel bag of his that had been there last night, too. I stared at them, my heart ridiculously picking up speed when I thought about the next few days I’d be spending here. All day. Alone with him. Turning to face him, I held his jacket closed. It was cozy up here, but I wasn’t ready to take it off yet.

It was warm and soft and it smelled like him. Oh God . . .

I was so screwed. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. I wasn’t supposed to want to smell him, for God’s sake. Yeah, he was hot. Yeah, he’d kissed me a few times. But neither of those kisses had been real. He showed about as much interest in seeing me naked as he’d show a turnip. Maybe less.

Shrugging his jacket off, I held it out to him. “Here. Thanks.”

“Sure thing.” He took it from me and flung it over the chair carelessly. His gaze never left my face. “You know, here in Boston, we have this thing called winter. During the winter and most of the spring, it’s cold as f*ck outside. And it snows. So, generally, in the spring and winter, people wear these things called pants. They’re like what you’re wearing now, only they go all the way down your legs—like mine do. And while your shorts make you look hot, pants will actually keep you warm.”

I placed my hands on my hips and cocked my head, holding back the smile that wanted to escape at his sarcasm. I’d always loved a sharp wit on a man, and, damn, he had one. It wasn’t fair. “Ooooh. Is that what those are for?”

“Indeed,” he said dryly. “I suggest you try them.”

“I did. The tips were half what I get when I’m wearing shorts.” Sitting down on the couch, I crossed my legs and tipped my head back so I could look at him. His gaze was on my legs for a split second before it snapped back to mine. “Men are pigs. They pay more when they can see my legs.”

He rounded the couch. “And if they paid more because they saw your ass, would you come to work naked?”

“No. That’s a whole different establishment.”

Sitting beside me, he trailed his finger up my bare thigh, smiling when goose bumps followed his touch. “Yeah, it is.”

“One you’ve probably frequented.”